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The Pulse Of Saturday Night

Rating: 5.0
Memories of the old dance hall
are sealed in the mind
of a middle-aged bopper
who remembers the magic
of Saturday night
many years ago when her
date appeared before the door
whistling the latest tune
while combing his slick hair,
looking handsome in his
plaid jacket and freshly
polished white bucks.

The rag-top Chevy had a Saturday
night shine with loud music playing
from its AM Radio while both
sat close together with his arm
around her pony-tailed shoulder,
they laughed in love as he
peeled rubber at the traffic light,
rushing to meet the gang at Wally's
Drive-in for burgers and shakes
and then on their way to a night
of be-bop-a-loopa.

Boarded windows, faded paint,
a fallen sign and unmowed grass
are yesterday's memories of a time
when going steady and exchanging
rings were favorite things to do,
she stops and stares at the
old dance hall recapturing
the pulse of Saturday night
which gives blueberry feelings
to her well-seasoned heart.
The Pulse Of Saturday Night
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: nostalgia
Sonia Walker 06 August 2016
Does anyone read poems and make comments on them? I feel as if I am stranded on an island or marooned. Robinson Crusoe' s relative.
0 0 Reply
Sonia Walker 17 June 2016
This poem is a nostalgic piece of Americana.
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